


A Reminiscence

by forlornmelodies



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M, Jennifer is a consenting adult, Post-Labyrinth, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-09-24 07:30:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20354692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forlornmelodies/pseuds/forlornmelodies
Summary: Interactions and encounters between David and Jennifer, spanning from the filming of Labyrinth to a few years after.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing but respect for David Bowie, Jennifer Connelly, and all their loved ones. This is purely a work of fiction (with some of their actual sentiments and opinions thrown here and there). The idea for this story simply wouldn't leave me.  
And of course, their relationship is strictly platonic until Jennifer becomes an adult.

Today, the commotion on set is different. There still resound voices that issue commands and directions, and loud, scraping noises of objects being moved into their designated place, but along the telltale signs of construction comes the unmistakable air of demolishment. Much of the rich world that has become her own for five long months is being taken down bit by bit, exposing the wiry, bewilderingly mundane, structure underneath. Today would be Jennifer’s last day filming Labyrinth.

As she crosses the line that separates the fictive world from the real one, holding a copy of the script in her hand, she looks at the now-stagnant puppets with a bittersweet ache in her heart. This feels too much like the end of a poignant phase in her life, in a way that she can’t adequately explain. Jennifer has experienced bouts of melancholy at the end of all—or, well, most—movie shoots in her short career, but never quite like this.

The thought nags her for a while, but it easily dissipates when she spots her costar from afar, sitting in a secluded spot that has come to resemble an alcove under the ongoing deconstructions. She nears him, a _‘hi, David’_ hanging on the tip of her tongue; but when she takes in his visage, the utterance dies before it has the chance to manifest.

The look on his face is not one that she can categorize. Not fully, not accurately. It is distant and solemn, but it seems to extend far beyond any place she can reach. It is not a transient sadness, she decides. The pensiveness tells of something much deeper. Something that she can’t begin to understand with her limited experience in life.

Held fast in silent consideration, she stares at him for a time indistinct, until he inevitably notices the breech on his privacy and looks up to meet her eyes. She blinks herself out of her daze and flushes at being caught.

“Are you alright there, Jennifer?”

His tone is light and playful, and it astounds her how easily he can clear away the darkness to don a placid countenance.

“I’m fine, just—” she pauses, takes in his attentive smile, and eventually says, “thoughtful.”

David pats the unoccupied space near him and shifts to the side. “Penny for your thoughts.”

She grins and sits beside him. The air they so easily forge is always comfortable and natural, and she feels she can confide in him. As the smile on her face slowly falls into a sad mimicry thereof, she shrugs lightly and places her elbows on her knees before resting her head on her forearm. In front of her, Jim is discussing something with Brian.

“I guess I’ll just miss everyone here.” She turns her head to look at David. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this to end. And I really hate goodbyes.”

He laughs lightly. She only now notices that he does this whenever he wants to lighten an otherwise leaden atmosphere. But it is always for another person’s benefit and not his own. “Yes, I understand what you mean. This mustn’t be a goodbye, though. Phones and mailboxes exist for quite a good reason, you know.” At earning an entertained snort, he continues, “And as for the rest—well, you get to keep it as a very fond memory. Nostalgia will become an important friend at a later point in your life.”

Crinkling her nose, she says, “I’m not sure I want nostalgia as a friend.”

“Oh, it gets a bad rep,” he explains, “but believe me when I say that it hardly feels as bad as you think. A bit sad, yes, but mostly warm, and vividly rich. It will simply remind you that you have something you treasure secured in your heart.”

The imagery is sweet, and she smiles albeit plaintively. Something within his description strikes her as wistful. Brushing this aside for the moment, she says, “But do you promise? That you’ll call and send mail?”

Grinning, he flits his brow in a conspiratorial, charming gesture that is unique to him and says, “You have my word, Jen.”

Then, Jim interrupts with, “Alright, David, Jennifer, take your places on set, shooting begins in five.”

David stands, offering a hand for Jennifer to take, and soon she is on her feet as well.

As they walk, he says, “This is my favorite scene, by the way.”

“Really? I think it’s kind of sad.”

“Precisely.” He smiles. “It’s a pivotal moment for Sarah. She primes her brother’s safety over her own feelings, and that is the main takeaway from the scene. But she is also rejecting Jareth’s pleas for companionship in his awfully lonely world. Do you think she realizes that?”

After a moment’s pondering, she says, “I hope she does. Even if it takes her time.”

Satisfied, he muses, “Yes, stories do go on even after the last written word.” And when he takes his place and the director cues her to stand at a certain spot, she sees the moment David disappears for Jareth to materialize.

It is a very swift transition, and she wonders just how much of himself he has lent to his character.

“And… action!”

******

He keeps his promise. Shortly after the end of the movie production, he returns to his world of music and is understandably rendered very busy. But she sends him mail nonetheless, and he makes it a point to write her back. Always witty, always funny, and always warm.

And when she reads his mail, a huge grin is plastered on her face. She rereads it for good measures and tucks the letter safely in the pocket of her jacket.

Her mother gives a goodnatured head shake and says, “Not everyone is lucky enough to have a rock idol as their pen-pal.”

And she is lucky.

She watches him perform on MTV and develops a genuine liking to his songs and an interest in his creative process. His albums are now stacked faithfully atop a shelf in her room and his lyrics are quietly hummed when she’s taking a walk or doing homework.

Her birthday comes, but he doesn’t call.

It would be a lie to say she isn’t disappointed, but she stifles the unpleasant feeling anyway. Among the many impressions of maturity that she has forced upon herself is a lack of entitlement. This is also what Sarah was forced to learn, was it not? Though she ponders where to draw the line between selfish expectation and a hurt that her friend failed to remember her on her special day.

Nonetheless, she celebrates with her family with laughs and fond recollections. She forces herself to push him to the very back of her mind.

It is not until very late at night that the doorbell rings and one of her parents answers. Jennifer pays this little mind, having already begun her preparations for bed, but when a few minutes later her mother shows up with a flower bouquet and a letter, she hastily sets down her hair brush and takes the items into her arms, closing the door after a quick ‘thanks’.

She sets the bouquet onto her desk and opens the letter whose envelope has an England stamp on its front with shaky hands.

_I asked the florist to pick flowers for the remembrance of a dear one, and it pleases me that they turned out to be so colorful. A fitting contrast to the cold and frost. Is it snowing where you are?_

_A very happy sixteenth birthday to you, Jennifer._

_Love, David_

She lingers on every word as she slowly sits on her chair. A smile settles quietly on her face.

After a while, she puts the zinnias in a vase and hopes they find a way to live forever.

******

The next time she sees him, it is at one of his concerts. She stands in the midst of a screaming crowd and entertains that this is the first time she sees him simply through the eyes of a fan. His performance is without a doubt great, and his stage presence keeps her engaged the whole time, but with all that comes a vague feeling of distance. Reconciling her simple yet heartfelt interactions with him with this magnificent stage persona almost feels surreal.

But she enjoys the concert immensely. She sings along and claps to the beat and laughs when he jokes.

And when he ends the performance by offering his thanks to everyone for coming, she is at a loss for what to do next.

Jennifer came here as a fan of David Bowie, but she also hoped to see her friend David again.

He retreats backstage, and it is only then, at feeling a pang of disappointment, that she realizes that she had hoped for him to recognize her among the many faces. It’s a silly wish, but wishes hardly care to conform to realism.

Standing indecisively as people maneuver around her to leave, she spares a few minutes in contemplation before deciding to go back to her hotel. It has been three years since they last saw each other, and a year since they last talked. Perhaps it would be awkward if she showed up in his dressing room unannounced. Would they even allow her to get that far? And he must be very tired now. She would leave him to rest.

As she moves towards the exit, the sound manager halts her with an “Excuse me.” Jennifer turns her head to look at him, puzzled. “You’re Jennifer Connelly, right?”

For a moment, she blinks in surprise. She hardly thinks she has achieved the necessary fame for people to start recognizing her. Some children here and there, yes, but not middle-aged men. Not until her next movie is released, at least.

She responds with an inquisitive, “Yeah?”

“Mr. Bowie asked me to fetch you.”

The only response her mind conjures up is, “Oh.”

He walks on ahead and numbly, she follows. Excitement stirs with anxiety, and the thoughts in her head are too many and render her incoherent.

But when she nudges open the agape door of his dressing room, she is met with glittering eyes and a full smile, and all her doubts disperse like smoke. He places his water bottle on the vanity and steps forth, just in time for her to realize how happy she is to see him. Striding ahead with opened arms, she voices his name in a gleeful greeting and hugs him before he has the chance to respond.

He laughs and hugs her back. “And here I thought you meant to leave without so much as a hello.”

She draws back to look at his face. “I didn’t even realize you saw me!”

“Such little faith in me. I’m quite discerning of those who are dear to me. Especially when they’re sitting in the front.”

At his teasing tone, she shakes her head, albeit fondly. “You were simply amazing today.”

David releases her and steps back to look at her properly. The attention flusters her, even if he never oversteps the boundaries of respectfulness. His eyes settle on her face again. “And you are lovelier than ever,” he says quietly.

Men have complimented her before. Being a young, female actress at the whims of exploitative producers means that she often has to deal with much unwanted attention and begrudgingly accommodate mostly innocuous, if not uncomfortable demands. Their flattery never ignites within her anything other than an irritated sort of discomposure.

But David… David is always sincere. His consideration of her sends warm tendrils of delight that settle in her heart.

It might very well have to do with the crush she has harbored for him ever since they met. Looking back, Jennifer is painfully aware of how transparent her feelings for him were; but he never took advantage of her infatuation with him, nor did he ever tease her about it. That way, she managed to pretend that he never knew.

Even if in the back of her mind, she knew otherwise.

Now, at the age of nineteen, she is made aware of him in a wholly more complex way. Her attraction to him is more tempered, but it goes deeper than before. It crosses her mind that if she flirted, he would respond. Or is she simply flattering herself at this point?

Stifling all these thoughts, she says artfully, “We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?”

“That, we do,” he agrees. “Though I do believe you deserve a better setting than a cramped room stuffed with props and costumes.” He drops a frilly hat atop her head for emphasis and she laughs before removing it. After regarding her with amusement, he says, “How about I treat you to a cup of coffee? Choose the time, I’ll choose the location.”

Her fingers freeze around the rim of the hat and she regains her voice after a moment’s pause. “Um.. yeah! Yeah, I’d love that. Tomorrow at ten? Is that okay?”

“Perfect. And as for the where… let it be Chamomile cafe.”

She nods, smiling. “I’ll see you there, then.”

They soon part once more, but this time is different. They part knowing they will meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David's favorite scene in Labyrinth is actually the one where Jareth and Sarah separate. I simply paraphrased his thoughts on it. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up that day, Jennifer was understandably anxious—the kind of anxious that is often associated with the uncertainty of first dates and an aching desire to make a good impression. Only this isn’t a date, she reminds herself, and David already has formed an opinion of her; one that is laced with warm fondness, and founded on an impression of a latent innocence. She finds that she laments the latter.

She wonders if he sees her simply as a little girl, filled with childish fancies that he perfunctorily finds endearing, but not significant on the longterm.

But those are the thoughts and dreads of an over-thinking mind.

How silly they seem after they are banished by reality.

Jennifer and David now sit on a sofa in a relatively secluded area of the cafe. The lights above their heads are warm and faint, forging an air of pleasant intimacy, and they lean their bodies so as to face each other, one arm resting comfortably on the back of the sofa, and the other holding a cup. She drinks tea, and he drinks coffee.

“So you went to Yale,” repeats David, eyes glinting with evident amusement, “and you chose to major in _physics_?”

She laughs at how surreal it sounds when it comes out of his mouth and rests her cheek against the palm of her free hand, shrugging lightly. “It’s just something I really wanted to do—well, for a while, at least.”

Convinced that there is more to it, his lips quirk upwards in a smirk. He puts down his coffee and levels her with a knowing look. “What really inspired this decision?”

The mirth slowly fades from her face, but a hint of a smile, soft, belying melancholy, remains. A leaden pause passes in which she simply looks into his eyes and knows that she can confide in him.

“I want to prove to myself that I’m more than a sexual object,” she admits steadily, noting how his own face begins to reflect the somberness she feels but doesn’t show. “I want to have my own thoughts, and for them to matter. I’m tired of playing out another person’s ideas—they get less and less favorable as I get older.”

He spares a moment to ponder her words. “Is this about the roles you’re getting cast into?”

She nods slowly, hesitates, and says, “The latest film I did—oh, God, David, it was awful.” She laughs briefly and passes a hand over her face. “It’s not out yet, and it’s just entered post-production, but I had to do this scene where I was riding a mechanical horse and—I don’t really know how to describe it, but it was just so uncomfortable. I could feel the crew leering at me and I knew that the scene served no purpose other than exhibition. The whole movie actually has no real coherence. It’s just me being paraded to a drooling audience. It… it made me think, is this all I’m cut out for? Am I just a thing to be ogled? It made me hate acting for a bit.”

The air around them is now heavy, but not awkward. Fleetingly, she regrets divulging these thoughts to him; not because of a lack of trust, but for a genuine desire for them to have a good time and remember this reunion as one to be repeated. She wonders what he thinks of her now as a thought creeps into her head, telling her that her concerns simply mean that she is an unprofessional actress, and he will not take her seriously anymore.

But again, her thoughts do him an injustice.

He takes her hand into his and squeezes gently. “It saddens me that you’re being treated like this. I always thought you were greatly talented, and that experience would only have you blossom,” he says. “But as it were, the people of Hollywood are terribly greedy. They wish to make a currency of the fact that you’re very beautiful, and end up unduly wronging you.”

His words have her heart skipping a beat, and she can only stare at him. How does he know the exact words she needs to hear? She wishes to say many things, ‘do you really think so?’, ‘so it’s not my fault?’, ‘does it get better?’, ’you think I’m beautiful?’, but nothing comes out.

David offers her a smile—it is the one she loves, complete with a head tilt and eyes that speak of a secret shared between only them. “I think it’s great that you’re going to university. I have no doubt you’ll emerge stronger and more confident in yourself. But don’t give up on acting. Not for the benefit of those idiots. Say no to the scripts you dislike and pursue the ones you like. But never compromise for something you don’t believe in.” Pausing, he adds lightly, “You’ll stop me if I become a clichéd armchair psychiatrist, won’t you? I fear I’m nearing that.”

A laugh escape her without her permission, hearty and true. He leans back to look at her with a grin.

Sobering, she says, “I think an armchair psychiatrist is just what I needed,” and more quietly, she adds, “thank you.”

He acknowledges her thanks with a nod. With his ever-present graceful tact, he maneuvers the conversation towards a more lighthearted topic, “So physics, you said?”

“Well, it seemed like a good idea when I was still in high school,” she admits. "But when I saw what it was like at college level, I decided that it wasn't for me. After some consideration, I switched my major to English literature. I learned a lot and read even more—there were countless nights spent lounging in the library with many books gathered around me, too captivated by the author's words to notice that I was the only one left in the whole building." She shakes her head at the too-recent memory, and he smiles. "Now I'm taking a small break from my studies to finish my latest movie... and to just simply rest," the addition is accentuated by a shrug. "Then I'll be starting a new semester in Stanford, where I'll be studying drama."

Chuckling, he leans back and says, “You have quite the versatile interests, Jenny. You've truly made the most out of a mere couple of years, haven't you?”

She raises her eyebrows, amused. “And you're one to talk, David?”

He raises his mug in a mock-toast and says, “Touché.”

After taking a sip from her tea, she deposits it on the table to grant him the same consideration he did her. “And what about you? What have you been up to?”

“The same as I’ve been doing all my life—being predictably unpredictable.”

“Steering away from all things boring?”

“Oh, those are the plague epitomized.”

“And…” Jennifer forced herself to maintain the smile; to breathe steadily, “Are you with someone right now?”

The question blatantly carries a double-meaning, and she grimaces as soon as the words come out of her mouth. Surely she could have been more discreet?

“Right now?” he says, eyes glinting with mischief, “why, I’m with you.”

She flushes and closes her eyes momentarily before opening them to level him with a look, pointed yet humored. “You know what I mean.”  
  
“You’ll have to excuse me; I had to return your teasing in kind,” he elaborates, but then the smirk on his lips wanes as he shakes his head. “I’m not with anyone. No one for the longterm, at least.”

The last sentence is enigmatic, and Jennifer ponders what it means. Is he having a casual affair? The concept, though entirely reasonable as he is a healthy, attractive male, makes her feel ill.

There is hypocrisy in her not wanting him to be involved with anyone. She herself has had affairs. In fact, a mere few months ago, she got out of an affair with a costar who is twenty one years her senior. A childish impulse makes her want to share that detail, but her reasonable side quickly shuts it down with hasty mortification.

Jennifer has had affairs, just like David. But she very much doubts that he ever envisioned his lover taking her form, so that it was her hands caressing him, and her mouth pleasuring him. She doubts that he ever lost himself in ecstasy with her name threatening to spill from his lips.

“And yourself?” he says, interrupting her thoughts.

“Um…” she clears her throat and gives a thin smile. “Same as you.”

Except not really.

He nods and raises his mug once more. “To a happy life, however and with whomever it may be.”

She clinks her mug with his, and says, “To a happy life.”

She wishes her voice didn’t sound so quiet and defeated.

But, as ever, her line of thinking takes on a pessimistic route when it comes to her feelings for David.

Who is to say what is really going through his mind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All details about Jennifer's perspective on acting, attending Yale, and briefly having an affair with her costar are very much true.


	3. Chapter 3

Though the days grow ever shorter and the nights ever colder, a warmth settles over the snow-shrouded streets with a fleeting delicacy that renders it intangible, yet undeniable all the same. Thus is the magic of Christmastide. Jennifer has ended up staying in England far beyond her intention, compelled by the disagreeable weather that fouled all flights and by a whisper of desire, buried deep in her heart so as to remain out of conscious reach, to stay there; stay near David.

He has kept her company, these last few weeks. Released from work obligations, he took the time to withdraw from the spotlight and enjoy the simpler aspects of life, surrounded by those who are dearest to him. Time and time again when he asked her to accompany him on various visits and trips to the most random of places, to countrysides and small museums, to observatories and obscure, underground gigs, she would say yes.

David would smile, then, and Jennifer would find herself reflecting that smile.

They talk about things that have never before occurred to her, and she surprises herself by her ready ability to form opinions and standpoints that counter and complement his own. Jennifer has always found his mind to be fascinating. It only strikes her then that the feeling is very much mutual.

And his keen attentiveness; his inquiries that follow her monologues, are the biggest compliment anyone could award her. Coming from him, it means even more.

On Christmas eve, he hosts a small gathering in a cabin his secretary had rented in Hampshire. The faces are unknown to her—close friends of David’s and their lovers, if they have one. Perhaps in a different setting, she would be inclined to feel out of place in such a tight-knit group; but coupled with warm laughter and soothing sips of wine, any trace of awkwardness soon goes on to dissipate.

They sit around the fireplace, with a glass in hand and stories to tell. Someone puts on a Perry Como record, and couples get up for a lazy dance, content to sway even if gracelessly for the mere sake of being close to each other.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, David leans into Jennifer to whisper in her ear, “How about we show them how it’s done? We did have formal training after all.”

Chuckling, she says, “I can’t promise that I remember any of that, but I’ll take you up on it. Just don’t be surprised if you end up with sore toes.”

“You’re worth the risk.”

He says that quietly, softly, that even with the teasing undertone, it resonates with an earnestness that banishes all the mirth from her disposition.

She takes his offered hand into her own, and places the other one on his shoulder. The music doesn’t allow for a waltz, so they settle for a gentle sway that is no less dizzying to her senses. This time, they are allowed a closer proximity to each other than during their dance in the film. There are no judging eyes and no directive commands, and the freedom that accompanies this realization almost makes Jennifer feel giddy. Her temple is a brush away from touching his cheekbone, and her chin almost rests atop his shoulder, but something in her compels her to settle for a phantom touch rather than a sobering reality. There is no telling how he would react to her taking liberties, anyway.

But David tugs her closer to his body with the hand on her back, until every self-imposed restriction is rendered obsolete. Inadvertently, a gasp escapes her. Her heart pounds tumultuously against her ribcage, and she tests the functioning of her benumbed fingers by curling them into the fabric of his shirt.

With a minuscule turn of his head, inquisitive and discerning, he says lowly, “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” she says, a bit too breathily for her liking.

A chuckle rumbles through his chest and the hand on her waist moves so that he enfolds her with the length of his arm. “Good. The distance weighs upon me, you see.”

Again, he says something that puzzles her, that makes her wonder if there is more to his words than what is readily comprehensible. But there is no need to sully a lovely moment with too many questions. Something whispers to her, encourages her to grasp onto threads and be led by the faraway beam of his lighthouse to wherever it may lead. When she rests her cheek against his shoulder, and he nuzzles her dark hair all too softly as if to escape her notice, serenity washes over her and she shuts her eyes.

A song ends, and another begins in its place. There is movement around them—perhaps of people settling on a couch or calling it a night—but they barely notice.

David drums his fingers against her back in harmony with the melody, and so she subconsciously focuses on the lyrics.

_I felt all flushed with fever;_  
_embarrassed by the crowd_  
_I felt she found my letters,_  
_and read each one out loud_  
_I prayed that she would finish,_  
_but she just kept right on_

_Strumming my pain with her fingers_  
_Singing my life with her words_  
_Killing me softly with her song_  
_Killing me softly with her song_  
_Telling my whole life with her words_  
_Killing me softly with her song_

His weight shifts, and he leans a bit more heavily against her now. She instinctively glides her hand higher onto his shoulder to support him, and it occurs to her that he holds her in an embrace rather than a dance.

And so she holds onto him tighter, until his tension begins to ease and the world feels less stifling in its lonely vastness.

They must have remained like this for quite a while, for when Jennifer scans the room, she finds that only they remain.

“I’ve kept you up long enough, haven’t I?”

Startled by his voice interrupting her thoughts, she looks at him as he withdraws from her, dismayed by the cold that now surrounds her body.

“I don’t think I want to go to sleep just yet,” she confesses.

“No?”

She shakes her head, sitting slowly on the couch. He sits beside her and appraises her clearly agitated state. Her hands are wrung together, and she bites her lips in thought.

Taking her hands in his lest she digs her nails into them, he says, “What’s on your mind, Jennifer?”

But she just looks at him. The firelight illuminates his mismatched eyes, so that one becomes an ember, and the other glints like an eclipsed moon in a black sky.

“Would you grant me a wish, just this one night?” she whispers before she can stop herself.

He raises an eyebrow. “A wish?”

“Something small. It can end before it even begins.”

For a split second, his gaze becomes more intense. “Wish away,” he says with a small smile.

And against her bursting heart and better reason, she releases a hand from his grasp to place it against his cheek, and leans in. Jennifer brushes her lips against his softly in a small, tender kiss.

But all too soon, she leans back and draws in a breath, bracing herself and forcing a shrug and a faltering smile. She says, “Well, that’s all—”

No sooner than she begins to speak that she finds herself robbed of breath and words. The very lips she kissed return to claim her own, tenderly still, pulling back shortly after to linger a mere breath away from each other.

David looks at Jennifer’s face, which is now flushed with disbelief and desire, and he cups it in both hands before leaning in again. The kisses grow feverish and sensual, retaining a measure of languidness that belies the building lust which manifests in roaming hands and low moans.

He envelops her securely in his arms, his hands rising in a caress against her back and descending down her forearms, before they move up her sides to linger just below her breasts. She shudders and tangles her fingers in his hair, arching into his touch and silently urging him to continue his exploration.

“This, then?” David mumbles hoarsely against her lips. “This is your wish?”

The searing kisses that imprint her cheek before claiming her throat make talking difficult, but Jennifer finds her voice after heaving a shuddering sigh. “I admit you have long surpassed it…”

Now those lips taunt her by brushing against her collarbone tantalizingly, without offering reprieve. “Do you wish to stop?”

The kiss comes, and she groans. “God, no!”

But then he moves slightly away to look at her with those beautiful, discerning eyes that fall upon her parted lips with hardly concealed intrigue.

“Do you want this…?” she asks, though she knows it is redundant.

“Do I want this?” he returns in a husky mumble before leaning in to pointedly press against her. His arousal steals away all argument, and her mouth is suddenly dry. He whispers in her ear, “Oh, do I want this…”

Yet all the same, he stands, slowly and with an upturned palm. “But not here. I want to make this special for you.”

Jennifer takes his hand and rises to her feet. He leads her to his room, and with her every step, she feels herself growing more faint until anticipation threatens to engulf her whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A love scene is likely coming up, but I still haven't decided on whether to make it vague or add details. Thoughts?  
Also, have you seen David Bowie's introduction of The Snowman? It's simply adorable! (Also what inspired the Christmas theme of this chapter).


	4. Chapter 4

Dim lights at the end of the staircase illuminate their way. They glide silently along the steps, hand in hand, hardly inducing a creak or moan from the aged wooden frame. Night has conspired to weave a furtive escape for the two, long past her biting dreads and his weariness of life.

He opens the door to his room, moonlit and cool, and she steps in only to shiver at the breeze that passes from the open window. From behind her, she hears a soft click and approaching footsteps, and she welcomes the warm hands that come to dispel the cold, easing from her shoulders down her arms before enveloping her from behind.

Jennifer releases a sigh and leans back against him, silently relaying her complete trust in him. She turns her head slightly to the side, and he captures her lips from over her shoulder, dizzying her with the narcotic slide of his tongue against her own, and she hums in bliss.

The kisses quickly develop a feverish sense of urgency, stirring the tantalizing heat inside of her to a rising peak. She has not but to turn in his arms to face him completely, twining her arms around his neck and pressing her breasts against his chest in a wordless demand for _more_.

When Jennifer feels him grin against her lips, she realizes that David finds a relish in teasing her; that it thrills him to have her wanting and desperate for his touch. She pulls back slightly to gaze at him with heavy-lidded eyes, intent on calling him out on this less-than-fair pleasure of his, but his eyes quickly fall upon her lips. The intensity she finds in their mismatched depths is enough to silence any passing thought. He thumbs at the kiss-swollen flesh, pressing and dragging, seemingly hypnotized by the plush softness, before leaning in to slowly suck on her bottom lip.

A small moan escapes from her throat. He backs her away until the edge of the bed comes into contact with the backs of her knees, and she places her two hands against his chest to push him slightly away. A questioning look mingles with the lust in his eyes, and she suppresses a grin of her own.

But she offers him no answer, choosing instead to climb onto the mattress with a deliberate sway and slowness, feeling his stare burn against the length of her body as she does so. Before she can face him, he grasps her and splays her on her back in a fluid motion. Supporting himself with his elbows on either side of her head, he looks down at her all the while breathing heavily. Her chest rises and falls to match the rate of his own breathing.

Their eyes, interlocked as intimately as their bodies, speak of much more than lust. Greens reflect a deep longing and unrelenting trust, and blues express fondness and a gratitude for much needed respite—his very own nepenthe manifest in the loveliest of forms.

David releases the tension on his muscles as he allows himself to press against her without crushing her, with his arms sliding against the soft sheets and around her shoulders. He kisses her again, prying her mouth open with his lips to taste the residual wine that further intoxicates his senses. The sensation of her soft breasts pressing against him sends his blood rushing to his groin, and he stirs against her thigh.

She shudders, eyes closed, head splayed back to fully avail a soft throat, and breathes, “David…”

Her voice has an effect on him. He stiffens momentarily before beginning a more brazen exploration. His lips place hot kisses against her neck, nipping and sucking on the white flesh until it adopts a pleasing blush, and his hands knead her breasts through the fabric of her short-sleeved sweater.

She keens and arches her back, wanting him closer still, needing to feel his hands on her bare skin. And he satisfies her wishes. His hands creep past the edge of her sweater, touching her sensitive sides and stomach, and she jolts at the new sensation, unable to restrain a surprised gasp.

His long fingers soothe her, running up and gliding down softly, but they only serve to sensitize her even more. She spasms and relaxes in time to his touch, her heart leaping to her throat as his hands reach higher with every round, until they graze her lacy bra and trace the fullness of her breasts in a wickedly teasing delicacy.

When he flicks his thumbs against her hardened nipples, she all but mewls. “David, you’re killing me…”

David responds with a chuckle, smooth and dark, and with a kiss atop her clothed mound. “It tortures me too, Jenny,” he mumbles against her, pressing another kiss a bit higher than its predecessor to brush against her skin. “But I want to take my time with you, please you thoroughly…” Another kiss has him sucking the top of her breast into his mouth, and he relishes the way she instinctively grips his hair to keep him close. “And I want your pleasure. It becomes my own.”

But her nerves are electric, and she finds it near impossible to be as patient as he is. She sits up, removes her top and unclasps her bra, mindful to slow down as she lets the straps slide down her arms. His eyes follow their descent before fixating on her now bare breasts, and he lightly wraps his hand around her graceful throat, easing his caressing touch down her heaving chest.

“How beautiful you are…”

The breathiness of his voice sends a shiver down her spine, and she winds her fingers through his hair to bring his face closer to where she needs him to be.

He chuckles, plopping a nipple into his mouth and sucking, delighting at her moans. “And how needy…”

“I’ve wanted this for so long…” she hears herself saying.

His hands squeeze and roll her globes dexterously. “So long, Jennifer?”

She doesn’t have it in her to feel ashamed, and she hums a ‘yes’.

“Well then,” he says softly, a finger hooking through her both her trousers and panties. “Let’s make sure the wait was worthwhile.”

And just like that, he disposes her of all her clothes until she is stark naked under his fully clothed person. The rough fabric of his pants touch upon her soft thighs, and the feeling excites her more than she care to admit.

There is poetic appropriateness that Jennifer should be completely vulnerable before him as David remains coolly in command of himself—is this not how she has always felt around him?—but what really undoes her is the contrast of his unruffled attire against the wild, uninhibited look with which he levels her. And she knows he is just as vulnerable; that he has surrendered himself to her as she has herself to him.

When he parts her legs with his hands, she splays her own against his chest, refusing to go on until she has beheld him in his most intimate of states. She makes quick work of undoing the buttons on his shirt—a fumbling effort of trembling fingers—and he allows her to go on without helping, content to watch her flushed face and the anticipation that glitters in beautiful green eyes.

Something in her holds him captive. An earnest, open desire and an innocence that so starkly contradicts her intrinsic sensuality. She is a paradox, and she charms his mind as well as his body.

Soon, she divests him of his shirt as well as his pants, and after a moment’s hesitation, she pushes his underwear down his waist and he straightens himself to fully rid himself of the article. When he looks back at her, he finds her staring at him with a pretty blush on her cheeks, and he can hardly stifle the amused smirk.

No, Jennifer is not a virgin nor is she a prude. She has seen many a man naked, but the reality of seeing _him_, the object of her fantasies and yearnings, fully aroused and erect for her, _because_ of her, overthrows her entirely.

David takes her hand into his own, bringing it to his length and encouraging her to wrap her fingers around him. Her curious touch quickly becomes purposeful, and she squeezes him as she gives an upward stroke. He groans deeply, halting her hand and disallowing her to continue.

Jennifer decides that he likes to tease himself just as much as he enjoys teasing her. A giddy laugh bubbles in her chest, excited and aroused, and she reclines back onto the mattress with one straightened leg and one drawn up knee. She artfully sways her folded leg back and forth, opening up to him more and more, bit by bit, giving him a glimpse of what he will get before depriving him of it.

Just as she has anticipated, he clenches his jaw and a flicker passes his eyes, and in that moment, he looks predatory. He grabs her knees, putting them both into a folded position, and holds her in place.

“Do you really want to play?” he murmurs, looking her straight in the eye as he kisses her inner thigh. “Because I’m afraid I will win.”

“Then go ahead,” she goads, opening up all the more. “Win.”

Her scent wafts through the air and he has the suspicion that winning and losing have the same meaning with her, but he welcomes the enigma that she poses with delight, trailing kisses down her creamy skin until he pauses at her mound. He brushes his lips a hair breadth away from her, and the tiny convulsion tell him that she feels his every breath and every move. Eventually, he kisses her swollen clit and she gasps and bucks beneath him, gripping his hair almost painfully.

He alternates between languid licks and searing kisses, bringing the occasional finger to tease at her lips and venture past her opening before drawing away. When she mewls wantonly, he awards her the mercy of stroking two fingers deep inside her, lapping at the wetness that escapes her.

The moans increase in both frequency and intensity, and he knows she is close. He hums against her, burying his face deep between her thighs and eating her out, his fingers working incessantly to bring her a sweet release.

“David,” she gasps, jerking under a particular lick. “David, I’m too close…!”

David hums again, taking her right hand with his left one to interlace their fingers atop the sheets, while his other hand pushes in and out of her, his tongue tracing tight circles against her clit.

“Oh—_Oh!_”

Jennifer freezes momentarily, and suddenly, she bucks against him in uncontrollable spasms, her fingers squeezing his almost painfully. David eases her down, licking at her gently until she has calmed.

For a few moments, she lies there stunned and breathing heavily, but soon enough, he comes up to kiss her deeply, and she moans into his mouth when she tastes herself.

His every touch electrifies her tender skin, and she feels her body pliantly accepting everything he has to give her.

“Was that good?” he whispers in her ear, kneading her muscles and breasts in a sensual massage. She hums blissfully, too far gone to say a word, and he kisses her cheek in approval. “Can you take more?” Another kiss.

In response, she raises her hips and wraps her legs around his waist, pleased when she feels him jerk against her thigh.

Jennifer winds her arms around his neck, kisses his lips tenderly, and whispers, “Take me.”

And he complies. He buries himself deep within her and groans at the warmth that surrounds him. Her arms come around his shoulders, and his enfold her midsection. They lock each other in a tight embrace, clutching onto the other almost desperately, and every rough thrust is so sweet and so fulfilling.

His length caresses her walls in a way that builds up a fire that smolders her core, and she squeezes him between her thighs in a way that compels him to speed on; to seek every drop of pleasure she can afford him and lose himself in the process.

As their moans become drowned in each other’s mouths, and the sound of skin slapping against skin becomes louder, their urgency grows quickly as well.

David feels Jennifer tense around him, and he thrusts faster and harder, until she throws her head back against the pillows and moans without restraint. Only when she constricts and spasms does he allow himself to come, groaning with her and crying out her name.

He collapses atop her, the two of them spent and fulfilled. Her hands caress his hair gently, and he closes his eyes and nuzzles her chest.

Slowly, he raises himself up to lie beside her, and she curls herself against his chest. One of his hands rubs up and down her forearm, and the other cards through her long, dark tresses.

Moonlight falls onto her frame, and her skin glows with pearl-white luminescence. The splay of a midnight mane along her back, and the pink blush that decorates her face and shoulders, only exacerbate her beauty. He can hardly take his eyes away from her as his brain draws up many comparisons to figures of literature and art alike.

But then she looks up at him, green eyes emotive and tender, and he remembers the girl behind all the physical appeal, beautiful in a way that his senses cannot touch. He smiles down at her and kisses her forehead.

Closing her eyes contentedly, she quietly says, “Thank you. You made me feel very special.”

His fingers continue to caress her silken back. “Special is exactly what you are, Jennifer.”

But all the same, she feels the resurgence of thoughts that she would very much rather keep at bay, at least this one night. Just this one night. Let it be her escape from any and all worries. She will deal with the implications tomorrow.

And so she sighs, hugs him closer, and goes to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Pale sunlight flits through the window to contrast a crisp-cold draft. The last vestiges of sleep remain in her mellowed bones and languid breathing, but Jennifer does shiver slightly before drawing the covers more tightly around her and snuggling more securely against David’s side. His warmth brings a smile to her face, and when he instinctively surrounds her with a protective arm, still claimed by sleep, the smile becomes a beam.

Images of last night play behind her eyelids and in the pleased hum of her body. They call for her eyes to open; to take in his visage in its most unguarded revelation. He breathes deeply, albeit quietly, and he looks completely at peace, having at last surrendered himself to rest after being claimed by too many insomnia-ridden nights.

She traces his eyelids softly and lets her index fall just below his eye, lightly touching the darkened, tender skin that speaks of fatigue.

Then, her finger traces his high cheekbone, and it tickles him enough that he, still asleep, turns his head slightly to rub his face against the pillow.

She stifles a laugh, and her finger falls onto his slightly parted lips. The laugh dies in favor of a more contemplative look.

Slowly, she presses her mouth to his—just enough pressure to satisfy a nagging desire, but not enough to disturb him.

But a kiss calls for another, and another, until she feels his lips stretch in a smile against hers and return the fervor.

“Good morning to you too,” he mumbles, voice still raspy.

“Hi,” she returns, smiling sleepily before burying her face against the crook of his neck.

His hand splays against her shoulder and drifts down her upper arm in a caressing motion. “You’re cold,” he notes, and though his touch brings forth a lulling warmth that calls for her to close her eyes and resume her sleep, there is a small shiver that silently confirms his claim. “Sorry, Jen—I should’ve closed the windows last night.”

But when he attempts to rise to remedy his mistake, she urges him to stay with the press of her body against his. “Don’t get up, not just yet,” she says quietly, eyes closed. “Let’s stay like this for a bit longer.”

David relaxes himself under her request and appraises her for a moment. Then, he turns on his side and slides down the mattress so that they face each other, and his thumb under her eye coaxes her to look at him. His visage communicates amusement, having deduced her concerns yet not truly understood their origin. “This isn’t a goodbye, Jennifer,” he says gently.

“No,” she concedes, a contrast of a faraway voice and intense green eyes. “But it’s a re-welcome to reality.”

“And was last night a fantasy?”

“It feels like it now.” Her face is wise beyond her years, and whatever intensity it contained has now given way to a forlorn acceptance. “The slate will thaw soon, and the snow will melt. And I’ll go back to my studies and my movies, and you’ll go back to being David Bowie.”

His eyebrows furrow slightly, his thumb now caressing her cheek. “You make it all seem so terminal. We can still meet in between it all.”

“And how often would that be?” she returns dejectedly, voice catching, and hazy gaze fixed at a point beyond his shoulder.

For a moment, he is silent. Then, he releases a sigh before collecting her to his chest, and his hand cradles the back of her head. Jennifer in turn wraps her arms around his back. “Don’t become too attached to me, Jen.” He strokes her hair, and his voice is awfully quiet. “You’re young and with your whole life ahead of you. Experience all it has to offer, and let the thought of me be sweet but none too pressing. The last thing I want is to hold you back, even if unwittingly.”

The breath Jennifer releases is amused, but when she draws back to look at him, her eyes are misty. He gets the impression that there is a hidden meaning in their depths—one that he missed entirely with his advice. But he doesn’t have the opportunity to ponder on this much longer, as she says, “Now you’re the one making it seem so terminal.”

“Oh no,” he smiles, mismatched eyes glinting. “I’ll still sneak into your life now and then. Take you to a surrealist art gallery or something of the like. I know you can’t go on for too long without balking at elephants with trumpets for trunks.”

Her laugh is music to his ears. “And maybe you can take me to those underground gigs of bands I’ve never hear of before?”

“Mm.” He flips them so that he lies on his back and she, atop him. Still grinning and with remnants of laughter vibrating in her chest, Jennifer shifts and wriggles until she has comfortably positioned herself so that she can look into his eyes. “I’ll take you. And to whatever place that pops into your head. You just say where.”

She licks her lips and regards him. He is earnest, and she knows he will make true of his word. But it is not the extravagant nor the exotic that really makes her time with him precious. She would much rather have him when there are no distractions from loud and bustling concerts that force them to yell out whatever comment they wish to speak; or from beautiful yet confounding manifestations of brilliant artistic minds that render them both all too silent as they appraise the painting before them. She wants to spend her time with _him_, in every sense of the word.

“You can just come over to my apartment,” she says quietly. “And we’ll drink something warm and talk about… well, just talk, I guess.” She shrugs. His lips are painted with a soft smile. “That’s not too boring, is it?”

“On the contrary,” says David. “I think it’s the most interesting proposal as of yet.”

And she kisses him—because he cares about her thoughts and because he is looking at her with those eyes and with that smile. Because she can only hold herself back for so long.

He returns her affections in kind, smoothing her hair behind her ears and simultaneously cupping her face as he moves his lips against hers, slowly and dizzyingly, until her concerns are nearly wiped from her mind. Nearly.

When she draws back, she rests her forehead against his, eyes closed. “But what will that make us? What will we be?”

David is silent as he considers. “It’s hard to say. Who’s to tell how the circumstances will be, really? Maybe by then you’ll have met a lovely guy in your college, and you’ll be in a happy relationship. In which case we will be friends—friends who are not as intimate as we are now,” he finishes with a small smirk, but it is out of place and soon falls away.

Jennifer has now slid so as to rest her head against his chest, facing away from him. “Maybe…” she says with no real conviction.

She wants to press forth; to present a quite opposing possibility, where they both remain unhitched and just as lonely as they are now, and time and space bend to accommodate them so that they can stay close to each other. What would they be then? What will he allow himself to be with her?

But such questions are damning, and she fears their answer. Perhaps he will say she is too young for him—he has all but implied it earlier—or perhaps he will say that he cannot see her as anything more than a friend, even if an admittedly intimate one.

No, she would much rather remain ignorant in this regard.

The tips of his fingers run down her back and retrieve her into the real world. “You’re far away in your thoughts, Jennifer,” he says. She simply releases a breath, and he leans his cheek fondly against the top of her head, feeling its softness. “You think a lot, don’t you?”

“I guess I do,” she concedes.

“So do I.”

After this, they both fall silent, content to simply lie against each other. But their closeness registers enticingly in their minds when she shifts just an inch to the side—or is it when his hand drifts too low and brushes against her backside? 

A drifting caress becomes a deliberate stroke, and a silent breath becomes a low moan. They make love; biding their time and creating memories to which they can return, should reality prove to be too disappointing in its bleakness.

Idly, Jennifer wonders why he asked her not to become too attached to him when he now holds her so tightly against him.

Did he truly imagine she would not hold onto him just as tight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jennifer's teenage years and early twenties were sadly filled with insecurities and fears of rejection. David had his own plaguing loneliness to contend with, coupled with a general loss of direction. I imagine those things contribute to a case of 'too many things to say, too little said'. They'd be scared of getting hurt--especially since both are quite the sensitive creatures. 
> 
> If you have any opinions regarding their portrayal in this story or if you'd like to share some suggestions/theories, please go ahead! And tell me how you would like me to progress the story (how much drama/angst would you like to see? My brain is weaving scenarios with various amounts of drama, and I can't seem to choose the best one to progress with).  
And thank you for reading. :)


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